Undertow
by MG12CSI16
Summary: "The girl leaned back slightly with her hips tilting forward but instead of the pair of legs he was expecting to see, her skin, starting just below her navel and stretching all the way down to what should have been her toes, appeared scaly and blue. And as if that weren't enough at the very end there was a fin, twitching happily as she smiled at him. " Fairy tale AU. Multi-chapter
1. Chapter 1

**Undertow**

_He woke up shrouded in a cloak of grey and if it weren't for the gritty feel of sand against his outstretched palms he would think he was floating. _

_There was a struggle for breath and the notice of a sharp tang in the air that burnt his nostrils as he embraced consciousness with a panicked gasp and his body jerked forward, allowing him a perfectly clear view of the ocean in front of him. He froze, listening to the quiet rush of the waves as they hungrily lapped at the shore._

_His mind began racing, an ongoing symphony of why's and how's because this was certainly not the car he last remembered getting into and if his memory was correct they still had the better part of an hour before they were even in the near vicinity of the shore or his mother's home. _

_Although the better part of him yearned for some sort of explanation he felt a strange calm wash over him as he brought himself to his feet and stumbled slightly. He ran a hand through his tangled curls, shaking the sand from them and squinting against the bright, grey sunlight that managed to stream through a gap in the clouds. _

_Eyes skimmed over the water as he became almost hypnotized by the rhythmic motion until something bobbing on the surface a few yards out caught his eye and he scrubbed at his face, trying to assure himself he wasn't seeing things. _

_There was a girl, up to her shoulders in the cold ocean water and she was watching him with such intensity it nearly sent a shiver down his spine. His initial thought was that she had fallen victim to the current and instinct propelled him forward as he called out to her and waved his hands above his head like a madman. _

"_Are you alright?" he called out to her as loudly as he could, voice drowned out by the waters roar. _

_The girl didn't even blink as he continued screaming and making his way to the edge, moisture soaking through the toes of his shoes as they squished in the damp sand. _

"_Hold on, I'll come get you!" _

_He took a few more steps until he was ankle deep and the icy water burnt his skin as it drenched the hem of his pants but adrenaline was making it hard to care. He looked back up to pinpoint the girl, find out exactly where he needed to go to get to her, but as his eyes skimmed the water that had now suddenly calmed he found that he couldn't see her._

_He stopped. _

_Fear washed over him like a cold shower as he continued his frantic search for her, screaming and blinking against the mist of salty water that was little by little making it harder to see. He was suppressing tremors as goose bumps rose on his skin and his teeth chattered but he refused to give up until he found the girl again. _

_She would not die because of him. _

_He thrashed through the water and drew in deep breaths in between dives, desperately trying to catch even a glimpse of her pale skin or dark hair beneath the waves but each time he came up empty handed and his muscles began screaming in protest until he could barely keep himself up any longer. _

_He ended up on his knees in the shallow end of the murky water, panting and soaked and close to tears he couldn't seem to hold back and as he dragged himself back to the shore, the sand sticking to his slick skin; he collapsed and muttered silent and heartbroken apologies that were carried away with the wind._

Sherlock jerked sharply awake with a choked gasp, feeling the cool sweat that had collected at the nape of his neck and along his forehead. He blinked a few times and let his vision clear, swallowing hard to contain his obvious distress as he assured himself it was just a dream in an attempt to calm the erratic beating of his heart as it pounded against his ribs.

He was back in the car, trundling slowly along a dirt road that was heading uphill and bypassing rows of evergreens and tall weeds. His lolled against the seat and he sighed, digging his nails into his palm and squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't open them until the cheery voice of his driver broke through the wall he was attempting to put up and he cracked one lid slightly open to look at him.

"We're here Mr. Holmes."

* * *

His childhood home was lavish and extreme, the best his father's money could buy at the time. It was nestled comfortably at the top of a hill with a gorgeous view of the shore towards the north end and one of the pine forest that lies just toward the east.

He spent many days of his adolescence hidden within the trees, finding his fascination with dead animals was much easier to hide under the cover of the greenery as opposed to out in the spacious front yard his mother always scolded him for leaving.

It had been some time since he'd actually been back here, well into his third year at university he found he never had much time to spare a visit and if he were being honest there wasn't much here for him to return to.

A strained family relationship made calling and visiting hard on everyone and after his stint in rehab just last year his father had all but cut off his ties to his son out of shame. Needless to say there wasn't much left waiting for him and he found it easier on everyone if he stayed away.

The plan had worked well to until news of his father's passing had reached him via his brother, Mycroft, whose robotic voice and lack of emotion had allowed the anger to fester in Sherlock's gut as he met the news with nothing but silence and shock.

That was almost two days ago and now, in a matter of moments he would be meeting with his brother and Mummy face to face and he was almost embarrassed to say he feared a reaction. Of course, by now he had no choice and he drew in a deep breath for courage as he threw the car's door open and embraced the cool spring air as it collided with him and scattered his curls across his forehead.

Sherlock barely had the chance to move before he heard a cool voice and turned to see Mycroft leaning casually against the car with an expression he couldn't read.

"Brother," he greeted gently, knowing this was no time for one of their spats.

Mycroft shifted slightly and tightened his grip on the umbrella in his hand but kept his face straight.

"Sherlock. I do wish these were better circumstances, but it is nevertheless good to see you looking so… _healthy_."

He felt himself bristle but he held his tongue as he saw an older woman with a tear stained and exhausted face making her way across the yard and he settled for glaring at his brother as coldly as he could muster and moved toward her with open arms.

"Mummy," he murmured as she melted in his embrace, fresh sobs escaping her lips.

Her dark hair was greying and there were a great deal of wrinkles between her brow and around her lips but she was still the same woman he remembered and it broke his heart to see her grieve. She took a moment to compose herself before she lifted her face from his coat and cupped one of his cheeks with a soft hand.

"Oh, it's so good to see you, love."

Her thumb gently smoothed over his skin as he smiled at her and they shared a look of sad misunderstanding before she turned and put one arm around him and the other around Mycroft, leading them toward the house without another word.

As they crossed the yard, Sherlock let his gaze flick across to the shore and the lapping waves and he suppressed the shiver threatening to run down his spine before he was finally able to look away.

* * *

He fidgeted in his suit and tugged at his tie until Mummy swatted his hand away and he settled in his seat with a huff. Mycroft was speaking on their behalf before she was due to deliver her own eulogy and Sherlock could not for the life of him sit still.

He had a restless night after his arrival that consisted of tossing and turning in his bed until he could no longer stand it and he shrugged on his dressing gown and walked down the hall to his father's study. The door was closed but left unlocked and his hand had curled around the brass knob, lingering for longer than he liked to admit before he finally pushed the door open and let a fresh wave of melancholy wash over him.

His father, for the most part, was a very organized man and everything in his study had a place. No one was really allowed in, or at least they weren't when Sherlock was a boy. There was the fear that children, who were always so curious and eager, would disrupt the order he had set and it bore the strict rule that no one was allowed inside with him.

Of course now the rule was purely moot and he had allowed himself inside, drawing his fingers across the smooth finish of the desk and across the spines of what was probably hundreds of books before he settled in the plush chair behind the desk with a dreary sigh.

There wasn't much on the surface other than a few scattered papers and his reading glasses; an old fountain pen and half smoked cigar resting on the edge of an even older ashtray, but nothing that really caught his eye.

His fingers had been itching to open the array of drawers, there metal handles glinting in the faint light of the lap on the edge of the desk. While it partly felt wrong to snoop there was still so much about his father he felt he didn't know that mainly sprouted from his leaving for university after the strong desire to distance himself from the man who never seemed to understand him.

Against the little voice in the back of his head he had jerked the first one open, peering inside with curiosity that melted into one of surprise as his hand plunged inside and plucked a photograph off the top of a pile of papers and folders.

It was a picture of him, sitting on his father's lap with a large book in his hands. His father was smiling and patting him on the back and judging by the look on his own face and the furrow of his dark brow he had been reading out loud.

Sherlock stared at the photograph for a few moments, collapsing against the back of the chair with… surprise? Ever since he was about twelve his relationship with his father had changed and they found themselves at each other's throats with every opportunity, leaving little hope in the youngest Holmes mind for the same pride he knew was found in Mycroft.

Still, finding the photograph had struck something in him and he found himself unwilling to let it go, the edges crinkling from the perspiration coming from his skin and he had eventually fallen asleep with it clutched tight in his grasp, warmed by the glow of the lamp and the new feeling bubbling in his gut.

Mummy had found him just a few hours later, rousing him with a gentle hand through his curls and the announcement that he needed to get ready before the funeral began. He was waiting for her to be upset about his entrance into the study but once she had caught sight of the picture in his hand her eyes had momentarily watered and she planted a feather-soft kiss on his temple before hurrying out the door.

Now they were all seated outside, the air barely warm enough to warrant the service being held there, and he was finding it harder to concentrate. His mind was betraying him, years of learning to push emotion and feeling to the deepest and darkest room of his mind palace suddenly crashing down as he listened to Mycroft speak and Mummy weep as she clutched his hand.

His chest was physically aching with loss and guilt at the thought of the last argument he shared with his father, pale and bruised with track marks scarring the inside of his arms and screaming words he didn't really mean but could never take back. He felt ready to scream, right leg bouncing uncontrollably as he dug his nails through his suit trousers and bit down on his lip until he tasted blood.

And then he couldn't take it any longer.

He shot to his feet just as Mycroft's speech came to an end and there were gasps from the crowd as his mother scolded him and begged for him to come back as he tore across the yard and towards the other side of the house, the wet grass slick beneath his dress shoes.

Sherlock didn't stop even after he had managed to distance himself from everyone and he could no longer hear Mummy cry and Mycroft yell and when he finally allowed himself to open his eyes and breath he found himself on the shore, staring hopelessly out towards the grey waters.

He fought to catch his breath and felt the hot sting of tears in his eyes but he gruffly wiped them away and looked toward the sky, as if he were unaware a sudden rain had begun to fall. He was angry with himself and his father, angry that they had fought so much and angry with himself for being so stupid.

Nothing could change the last words they had spoken to each other nor could anything change the way they fought tooth and nail to make each other see their ways but he still couldn't shake the constricting guilt from tightening in his chest.

When he'd finally calmed down enough and blinked away the remainder of his tears he eased himself down onto the sand and ran a hand through his hair, tugging sharply at the ends. The tangy scent of salt was awakening a sense of déjà vu in him as bits and pieces of his dream came back.

He hadn't really thought about it since he arrived, there were more pressing matters that had sought his attention then but now there wasn't much to occupy him and keep him from picturing the girl's face or remember the icy feel of the water against his skin.

He roughly shook his head and drew out a long, loud sigh before flopping onto his back and folding his hands over his stomach in defeat with comical force. He was just closing his eyes as a soft, tinkling laughter drifted across on the breeze and they shot open once more.

Quickly he sat up, looking down the stretch of beach in each direction but seeing nothing but a few sea birds circling overhead. He huffed angrily; almost sure his mind was now deciding to play tricks on him on top of the breakdown he'd just encountered. He was ready to flop back down and wait for someone to drag him back to the house when something a few yards out caught his eye and he was absolutely sure he was seeing things now.

It was the same girl from his dream, pale shoulders once again barely visible above the water and this time her doe brown eyes widened when she saw him looking at her. She lowered herself farther into the water, nearly up to her chin in the icy waves as if she was hiding from him.

Sherlock shot to his feet but he didn't move right away, he took the time to actually observe her and noticed she wasn't fighting or struggling against the current. In fact, she looked completely at ease and he actually gawked at her.

She giggled at him again and he felt his lips curl into a smile at the sound.

It quickly wiped away though when his subconscious so kindly reminded him that there was still a girl out there, a girl he had _dreamed _of just the day before and he wondered why the thought didn't strike him as completely crazy a few moments earlier.

To his left there was a bed of large rocks that led out to the water just a few feet to the girl's right, appearing as if they were tossed carelessly into a pile by some sort of giant and he felt himself moving towards them, keeping one eye on her in case she disappeared like before.

The stones were slick and covered with a fine layer of salt and misted ocean water, dangerous even as some of them possessed sharp edges and if he were to tumble the end result would not be pretty. Still he found himself mounting the one nearest to him with extreme caution, reaching out in case he needed to catch himself.

He teetered and gingerly maneuvered his way to the end of the assortment until he reached the last rock, lowering himself onto his knees and finding himself nearly face to face with the girl, who looked barely old enough to be on her own.

She was cowering from him but she didn't flee or attempt to swim away, she bobbed effortlessly in the waves as if she didn't even have to try and keep herself afloat and Sherlock found his curiosity was piqued to a remarkable level.

Without thinking he had reached out a hand toward her in hopes she would let him bring her to shore but she just looked at it, biting her lip in thought.

He reached out just a bit more but the leg of his trousers caught on something and he jerked forward, hands scraping against the rock as a stinging pain erupted through him and he felt himself falling and then everything seemed to fade as his body came into contact with the frigid water.

* * *

A/N: Whaaaat? Yeah, this came out of nowhere and attacked me and I just sorta rolled with it. This chapter mostly just sets the stage but I thought the mini cliffhanger was a nice touch too. This is my first attempt at anything fairy tale like so comments are appreciated and some things in future chapters you'll probably recognize and some things are what I've thrown in

Either way I don't own anything.


	2. Chapter 2

**Undertow**

The second time Sherlock woke up on the shore his chest ached and he was shaking violently.

His teeth were chattering against the cold, his wet suit pinning him to the sand as he fought to sit up only to be stopped by the coughs that were racking his body. He vomited out a mouthful of salty water as he rolled onto his side and blinked the drops out of his eyes, trying to figure out where he was as his stomach emptied itself.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed since he fell, all he really remembered was the chill of the waves and the face of the girl he had been trying to get to but his head ached far too much to try and sift through the memories right now. There was still the question of how he got back on the shore though because there was no else around and with his weight and lack of consciousness he should have sank.

Sherlock blinked and shook his head hard as the thought hit him like a ton of bricks.

_He should be dead. _

All the evidence pointed to the same conclusion no matter how many times he worked through it, he should have died in that water and even if the waves had managed to wash his body back ashore it would have been too late to save him. He sat back and pushed his damp hair out of his eyes and tried to calm down, his throat and sinuses burning from the salty water he had inhaled and swallowed.

For a moment he just looked out and watched the ocean, shaking his head at his own foolishness for really believing his grief stricken mind. There couldn't have been a girl; it just wasn't a logical conclusion. She should have suffered from hypothermia if she'd been in there as long as he suspected and there was no possibility that she could have fought the current and as calmly as she did.

Angry and freezing, Sherlock finally brought himself to his feet and fought off the dizzy spell that attacked him as he did so. He was wringing the water from his jacket when he happened to give the water one last glance and spotted her for a third time. She was closer this time, holding onto one of the rocks and watching him intently, if he wasn't already doubting his sanity he would think he was crazy because there was something that looked like worry reflecting in her brown orbs.

Worried for him, maybe?

He was in no mood for games now and he' be damned if he let himself go on thinking about her without figuring out exactly who she was and why the hell she was out there. He trudged angrily to the edge of the shore and let his arms hang limply at his sides in defeat, voice cracked and gruff.

"I don't know what you want or why you're watching me, just come out of there and let me help you. _Please._"

He watched the girl's head tilt to one side as if he were an experiment whose results were baffling to her and she let out another of those tinkling laughs like before. Sherlock wanted to be mad, he wanted to scream at her and demand an explanation but for some reason he couldn't. He just continued to stare at her desperately before he called out again.

"I'm not going to hurt you. You're safe around me," he held out his hand in another peace offering. "Just please come out of there."

She didn't answer him with words and instead what she did nearly sent him running because if he were to actually believe what he was seeing, then there was no hope for him.

The girl leaned back slightly with her hips tilting forward but instead of the pair of legs he was expecting to see, her skin, starting just below her navel and stretching all the way down to what should have been her toes, appeared scaly and blue. And as if that weren't enough at the very end there was a fin, twitching happily as she smiled at him.

It took a moment for Sherlock to swallow the nausea.

"A tail," he finally choked out, one hand smacking his forehead as he stared. "You've got yourself a bloody tail."

He took a few steps back out of pure shock, his mouth still gaping as he watched her float happily, her _tail _still waving at him with obvious amusement. He wanted to run, go back to the house and crawl into bed and sleep away this nightmare of a day because not only did he make a fool of himself in front of everyone but now he was staring at a girl with an extremity that no human should have, but for some reason he couldn't make himself move.

Common sense told him that he didn't need to make things worse and if he tried hard enough he could delete this memory and never have to think about it again. He could save himself the embarrassment and frustration and everything would sooner or later return to his definition of normal.

Except he found he couldn't do it.

He wasn't afraid of her and he could tell that by this point she was no longer afraid of him. Shy maybe, but not afraid and for some reason he found relief in that. She was sparking something in him he couldn't explain, whether it was curiosity or- dare he say- infatuation. He was ready to call out to her again, maybe even make another daring attempt to cross the stretch of rocks but before he could muster up the energy or courage to do either he heard someone call for him.

Knowing he had probably angered many people, he turned toward the voice obediently and saw Mycroft standing on the molding wooden bridge a good twenty yards away. His face was morphed into one of anger and confusion and Sherlock knew better than to give him another reason to shut him out for good.

Before he turned to leave though he gave one last glance to the swaying ocean, but the girl was gone and there was a hollow feeling in his chest he couldn't explain.

…

He had warmed considerably now as he nursed a cup of tea and pulled the afghan Mummy had given him tighter around himself. Once he had reached Mycroft on the bridge his brother's anger had faded to shock when he took in his little brother's disheveled appearance and he dragged him back to the house in silence. Mummy however had not reacted as delicately and she had fussed and dragged him to the bedroom where she had made him strip his clothes on put on some of his father's thicker pajama's and a dressing gown.

Once the fear of hypothermia had passed, however, he found himself on the receiving end of a serious verbal lashing as Mummy set him down in a chair and gave him a steaming cup of tea. He could tell she was trying not to cry and he felt bad for his previous actions, regardless of his encounter with the girl.

"What has gotten into you?" she asked him, perched on the edge of another chair with Mycroft hovering behind.

Her lips trembled as Sherlock shrugged dejectedly and sipped his tea.

"Is it the drugs again?" she fretted, "Do you need help? I'm sure Mycroft would be more than willing to-"

"Enough!" he snapped, putting an end to her tearful interrogation.

There was agitation burning in his belly at his mother's lack of trust in him. The drugs had been a mistake, he was nothing more than a child still and one moment of weakness had led to a quick downward slope until he had painfully hit the bottom.

After he had gotten clean he had managed a steady job in a library and with the extra hours he put into his studies he would still manage to graduate on time. He had built himself back up, thought he had proved himself but was obviously wrong.

Despite the anger he felt he knew he shouldn't have snapped, Mummy was already grieving and she didn't need his hostile attitude rendering their relationship dead. He slowly let out a large breath and set his tea aside, reaching out and gathering her shaking hands in his own.

"I'm sorry. I just… It was a lapse in judgment and I handled it poorly. I needed some space and I should have properly excused myself." He put on his best shamed face and watched Mummy's melt into a smile.

"It's alright, love. You just worried us… but, how did you manage to soak yourself the way you did?"

Sherlock did the best he could to keep the panic from showing on his face. There was no way they would believe his declarations of sobriety if he began going on about a tail-possessing girl who lived in the ocean.

Instead he offered an abashed grin. "I took a bit of a tumble, fell right into an oncoming wave and got myself a decent bath."

As much as the lie pained him to tell both she and Mycroft seemed to find some truth to his words and Mummy had leaned in, kissed his cheek and ordered him to bed for the night. It didn't take her asking more than once for him to scurry down the hall and into the safety of his bedroom, closing the door tightly behind him.

…

He waited until he heard the last set of footsteps to recede down the hallway before he tiptoed toward his balcony and pushed the French doors open. When he was little he had never given much thought to his room having the view of the shore, his interest was never in the cold waves or the itchy sand and he could probably count on one hand how many times he had stood on the balcony and actually watched the water.

His fingers curled around the rail as he leaned against it, squinting his eyes and trying to make out the shape of the rock bed that was partially illuminated by the moonlight. It was a long shot that he would actually see her but there was a drive he now possessed to find out what she was and why she was always watching him.

Sherlock was almost certain there was nothing special about him or at least nothing he found admirable, especially to someone like this girl herself.

As he suspected the water was clear, no sign of anyone as his eyes skimmed it over and over and disappointment weighed him down. With a defeated sigh he trudged back inside and crawled into bed, exhaustion finally catching up and rendering him unconscious in a matter of minutes.

…

There was a dull thud that woke him and Sherlock had half a mind to ignore it and go back to sleep. He assumed it was one of the maids or even Mycroft whose room was just down the hall but then it sounded again and he realized it was coming from within his own room and he sat up on his elbows and listened.

It came again and he sat up, slightly dazed as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. He could tell it was early morning, the grey sunlight coming through the curtains that were casting shadows across his wall. When the noise had faded into a quiet scratching he noticed it came from his closet on the other side of the bedroom, behind the large portion of wall that jutted out and separated his bathroom from the rest of the room.

He should call somebody, not knowing if this was a threat or simply some rodent who was seeking shelter from the cold nights but Sherlock was stubborn and he slid his feet into his house shoes before deciding there wasn't much to lose and gingerly stepping toward his wardrobe.

He kept his breathing shallow and his steps light, pressing his back against the wall and praying silently before he took one giant stride forward and raised his hand defensively toward the intruder.

And then he stopped.

It wasn't a mouse or a rat, no large and threatening looking thief who was here to rob him. In fact it wasn't even a man.

Right in front of him, less than two feet and cowering behind a rack of his dress shirts was the same girl, only now she stood on two pale legs and looked up at him with those terrified brown eyes. His hand fell back to his side and Sherlock had to catch himself on the door frame to keep from falling over. He flailed for a second but eventually he found his breath and ignored the pounding of his heart against his rib cage.

"It's you," he whispered.

The girls face morphed into one of surprise when he reacted without anger or violence but she still refused to come toward him so Sherlock kept his distance and lowered his voice to a soothing whisper, his baritone floating across to her.

"It's alright," he assured her.

He chewed his bottom lip and looked back at her without moving a muscle. He didn't know how to proceed from here. For all he knew this girl was traumatized and anything he did could trigger panic, so instead he gave her a warm smile and tried his best to hide the look of bewilderment on his face and when she relaxed ever so slightly he slowly let out a breath.

"Well, I think it's time you and I have a bit of a chat."

* * *

Thanks for the reviews and alerts on chapter one. Hopefully chapter two doesn't disappoint.

I still own nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

This is way overdue I know but I just couldn't seem to write this chapter. I wrote it about three separate times and finally settled on this version so I hope you like it. I'm planning (fingers crossed) for the next chapter to be from Molly's point of view starting from the time Sherlock fell into the water up to the point where he found her in the closet and also explaining how she became human. That part is definitely going to be based off the Little Mermaid, mostly because I am not as creative as I'd like to be and I think that's a pretty believable scenario or at least as believable as you can get with this kind of thing.

Ramblings aside I present to you chapter three.

I still own absolutely nothing.

* * *

**Undertow **

For the most part, the girl seemed to sense that Sherlock was someone who could be trusted and as he spoke she slowly made her way out from behind the rack until she was standing in the middle of the room with a small smile. He had every intention of letting the flood of of questions that were hanging on the tip of his tongue break free, but before any of the words could leave his lips he found a choked gasp ripping itself from his throat when he noticed the girl was completely nude.

Not a single piece of clothing to be found.

His initial reaction was to look _anywhere _but forward and he found himself studying the patterned wallpaper just behind her head in desperation while a furious blush colored his cheeks. She seemed thoroughly confused by his behavior, head cocked to one side and brow tightly knit but she still didn't speak and he admitted quietly to himself how odd it seemed.

She didn't seem to notice the problem with her appearance and continued to watch as Sherlock squirmed beneath her gaze until his eyes, despite his best attempts to remain civil, slowly grazed down and landed on her once more and he noticed for the first time how beautiful she was.

Her skin was pale in the way a porcelain doll was pale; free of any freckles or blemishes. She had doe eyes, a deep shade of hazel; two forests of brown that melded perfectly with his jaded green. It was almost too easy to lose oneself in them. Dark lashes swept across the tops of perfectly rounded cheeks that held just the tiniest tinge of red, dusted with a tiny sprinkling of freckles that spread across the bridge of her nose as well.

From there his eyes only continued to lower, locking on the two small, perky breasts hidden behind a curtain of auburn hair that fell just above her navel in tangles. A toned abdomen and jutted hips that connected to the two perfectly shaped legs he still couldn't wrap his head around.

His focus was interrupted when he noticed her shifting on her feet uncomfortably, biting at her lower lip and glancing around as if she was looking for somewhere to run. The last thing Sherlock wanted was to be caught with a naked stranger in his room and the longer they stood here he realized the chances of that happening would only grow. Quickly he grabbed an old button up Mummy had neglected to get rid of and handed it to her but the only reaction was a blank stare.

He sighed, slowly moving toward her and when she didn't shy away or whimper he draped it over her shoulders and pulled it closed over her breasts and stood back to watch her. She was still for a few seconds, looking down at the fabric that fell to her mid-thighs before running her hands over the purple satin gently. She began to wriggle experimentally beneath it before humming happily and looking at him like he'd just given her all the riches in the world.

Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

Her happiness was almost infectious, he found, unable to look away as she toyed with the buttons and continued running her fingers over it again and again until she abruptly stopped and her head shot up quicker than he thought possible.

He opened his mouth to ask what the problem was but a knock on his bedroom door cut him off and his face instantly drained of color as his mouth ran dry. He followed her panicked gaze toward his bedroom door and felt his heart hammer in his chest.

Sherlock noted it was fairly early with the sun still hanging low in the sky and after yesterday's tiresome events he knew Mummy wouldn't be up for some time. None of the staff woke him in the morning's, they learned the hard way when he was a boy that when he did actually manage sleep it normally led to trouble when it came to wake him.

That only left Mycroft and he visibly shuddered at the thought of his brother finding this girl in his room. Mycroft never seemed to understand his younger brother. As hard as he tried to be supportive and kind his attempts always fell flat and Sherlock had long given up on the hope that they would have the kind of bond Mummy always wanted for them.

He looked back at the girl and held a finger to his lips, asking for silence before he motioned for her to stay put and then slipped out and shuffled across to the door just as another set of knocks was beginning to sound.

He pulled it open and was the last bit surprised to see his brother on the other side.

"Mycroft," he greeted, trying to calm the shakiness in his voice.

Fortunately Mycroft didn't seem to outright notice anything strange and simply swept past Sherlock and into the bedroom. Sherlock felt his stomach drop.

"Is there something I can help you with?" he ground out.

His panic was quickly being replaced with agitation as he watched Mycroft move around the room, toying with the few things on the dresser and finally settling on the edge of the bed. It was only intensified when the next words left his mouth, robotic and cold.

"We need to discuss your behavior from yesterday."

Sherlock scoffs. "My behavior? You're referring to my ungraceful exit from the service I'm assuming?"

Mycroft nodded and folded his hands in his lap. "Yes, that, and the apparent tumble you took yesterday that almost resulted in you freezing to death on the shore. You should know how upset Mummy was when you ran off like that and after you came back soaked and barely lucid. It is bad enough she's had to worry about you falling back on your old habits but now she's been frantic in making sure you don't suffer some sort of breakdown as well. I think we all know you and father didn't exactly get on well and your last conversation was anything but pleasant."

"Why must everything I do have some sort of connection to my addiction? I'm not sure if you're aware but I have taken care of the problem."

Mycroft's only response was a brief eye roll. "And what about when you return to school? To work? You're lack of self-control is not a mystery and one can't be too careful. It's not like I have the money or resources to strap you with a personal babysitter all day."

Sherlock felt his patience running extremely thin but the last thing he wanted was to start a shouting match so early in the morning, drawing the attention of everyone in the house to his bedroom. Allowing Mycroft to have his way during arguments like this always left him with a bitter taste in his mouth but the longer he thought about it he realized he was running out of choices.

Finally, he looked at Mycroft with a sigh and sat beside him on the bed. He kept his voice calm and his eyes as sincere as he could manage.

"If it will put you at ease, I'll apologize to Mummy when she comes down for breakfast and assure her there is nothing to worry about." He looked pointedly at Mycroft, who didn't look exactly satisfied but gave a brief nod anyways and rose off the bed.

As he approached the door with slow steps Sherlock saw him stop, pausing to peer over his shoulder as his voice came out low and smooth but his eyes never actually met his brother's.

"You may choose not to believe me but I worry for you Sherlock. I care for you more than you will ever know and I only have your best interests at heart, and I just wish you would allow me to help you."

And with that he was gone, the door softly shutting before Sherlock could even offer him a rebuttal. He let out a breath after a moment of processing and leapt to his feet to retrieve the girl from his closet and get her somewhere with less chance of being caught.

She was exactly where he left her, wrapped in the silk shirt he had given her as she toyed with a pair of loafers that were on the floor. She had the left one on her right foot and her bottom lip was stuck between her teeth as if she were debating something genuinely concerning. Sherlock chuckled and bent down, taking the shoe off of her foot and sliding it onto the other as her face lit up.

She smiled at him and took the other shoe, putting it on her other foot and wiggling her feet excitedly. He just shook his head and rummaged through the rest of his clothes, looking for something else he could give her before they ventured outside. In the back of the closet he found a spare pair of pajamas, the blue argyle pattern faded from time and many washings.

He gave them to her and mimicked how to put them on and fortunately she learned fairly easily. While a bit clumsy she managed to maneuver both legs (which were more than a bit shaky) into them and pulled them up. They barely hung on her hips, swallowing her tiny frame but for now it was all he had. Once she was at least semi decent he took her hand and quietly led her to the door, stopping to out into the hall and assure that no one was around.

Everything was clear so quietly he led her down the hall, their feet pattering softly against the hard wood. Mummy wasn't up yet so he had time to try and sort some of this ridiculous situation out before he had to be back at the house for breakfast. The more he tried to think of a reason or explanation for what had happened the more confused he became; less than twelve hours ago he had no belief in things like mermaids and fairytales and now he was dragging around a woman who had a tail the last time he saw her.

Despite his yearning for answers he kept his questions to himself as he took the girl to the guest house his father had built years ago. It had been empty for years and sometimes Sherlock wondered why it was even there but right now he was thankful.

He didn't have a key so he picked the lock as quickly as he could, stopping every few seconds to pull the girl back when she attempted to wander whenever something caught her eye. When he finally pushed the door open he ushered her inside and felt for the light switch, the room suddenly covered in an artificial yellow glow. There were a few pieces of basic furniture, a kitchen with a small refrigerator and a long book case lining the sitting rooms wall.

He let her wander as she pleased, touching everything she passed and even oohing and awing on occasion as he went and checked the back bedroom. Most of the surfaces were covered in dust, obviously unused for quite some time.

When Sherlock was done with his initial inspection he came back to find her seated on the couch with her legs tucked beneath her, holding a book in her hands. He knew she couldn't read it, mostly because she holding it upside down, but the sight of her looking so normal and human struck him deeply.

He came and sat down beside her, a small smile tugging at her lips as she showed him the book and he gently took it from her hands, closing it to look at the cover.

"_Great Expectations_?" he mused, "I think you'd like this story. Maybe I'll read it to you sometime."

After setting the book on the table beside him he looked back and found her watching him closely, dark eyes sweeping over his face and the deepening rise and fall of his chest as his breathing picked up. He didn't know why she made him nervous but every time he looked at her he felt something tug at him and he couldn't tell what it was.

Finally when he couldn't take the silence anymore he cleared his throat and shifted in his seat so he was facing her.

"You know," he said through a humored laugh "I've gone through all this trouble to keep you hidden this morning and I just realized I don't even know your name."

It struck Sherlock as odd that he hadn't asked the girl her name until now but he attributed it to all the madness he had experienced just a few hours into the day. He looked back at her and patiently waited for her to tell him, thinking that after she'd had the chance to warm up to him a conversation would come easily. It strikes him as odd when she just continues to look at him, still smiling but not offering an answer to his question and he clears his throat, asking her again.

Still no answer.

He sighed and looked at her worriedly. "Can you speak?"

He watched her open her mouth, no sound coming out before she closed it and hung her head sadly. Sherlock chewed his lip and thought. It explained a lot but it also made things more difficult for both of them and he massaged his temples as he felt a headache brewing behind his eyes. He was desperately searching for a way around this and he smiled triumphantly when a thought struck him. He opened one of the table drawers and dug around, pulling out an old scrap of paper and an ink pen and handing it to her.

Sherlock motioned with his hand, as if he were writing, and asked her once again,

"Can you tell me your name?"

He knew it was a long shot that she would even know how to write but it's the only thing he could think of right now and he watched her as she stared down at the paper, looked back at him then slowly began writing. It took her a few moments and the end result was almost illegible but as she handed the paper back to him he could just make out the name and he smiled as it rolled effortlessly off his tongue as he locked his jade eyes with hers.

"Well, hello Molly."

* * *

Whoo, glad that's out of the way. Seriously though the only thing I could think of after I finished this chapter was Benedict Cumberbatch reading Great Expectations to me, *swoon*.


	4. Chapter 4

Well, I'm back finally and all I can say is sorry for the wait. For the last month my life has consisted of classes, being sick, college applications, a fried laptop battery and life in general. Needless to say I am _worn out_. RL is a complete pain in the butt, plain and simple.

Any who, this chapter is Molly's point of view of the majority of the first two chapters and the explanation for her sudden…humanness and such. Hopefully you all like it and I just want to thank all of you for reviewing and favoriting and following, you guys are the best and I'll try to do better with posting!

Also, I cut this chapter a bit shorter than I originally planned, mostly because it was a difficult one to write on its own and I didn't want to risk delaying this any longer than I already have. Of course it doesn't affect the story line in any way so really there's nothing to worry about.

* * *

**Undertow**

Even though every little voice in her head told her to back away, Molly found herself frozen as the man teetered and stumbled across the maze of stones to get to her.

She knew coming this close to the shore was a risk in itself but the thought of seeing him again, especially after all these years, was too much to pass up and now that he was face to face with her she found she didn't regret the decision one bit.

He had grown considerably, both physically and mentally she could tell, since the last time he was on the shore, gangly and pale with cheekbones that had not yet been defined and a knotted mop of hair that refused to be tamed.

Her eyes followed every move he made, gut tightening in fear as his dress shoes would lose their traction and he reached out to catch himself on the damp stone only to straighten back up and continue moving towards her, eyes a forest of questions and genuine wonder. Despite her fascination with him and the longing to reach out she continued to shrink back, as if the water would offer her some sort of protection.

With each passing second he got closer until he reached the end of the rock bed and his hand once again sought her out. She had half a mind to take it until she saw the panic flare in his eyes, pant leg catching on something she couldn't see. From there it was as if time had begun to slow, agonizingly so as he tumbled toward the frigid water, the grey waves enveloping him with minimal effort as his body broke the surface.

Molly held her breath and waited for him to resurface but as the seconds ticked by and she failed to see the head of black hair or the piercing green eyes she felt her throat tighten. Sucking in a deep breath she dove, blinking against the salty water as her eyes flicked back and forth in search of him.

For the most part the water was clear enough for her to see a few feet in front of her and as she squinted and swam toward the rocks she saw him, body descending ever so slowly as his arms lay limp and his eyes stayed shut.

It struck her how it odd it was that she felt such a need to protect someone she really didn't know, someone whose face she had begun to forget, but as she got closer and her fingers wrapped around his coat and began moving toward the surface she felt her heart pounding against her ribs and every fiber if her being telling her to keep him safe.

They broke the surface with a loud gasp from her and complete silence from him, his head lolling to one side and knocking against her bony shoulder. She winced at the dead weight in her arms but managed to keep him above water as she struggled toward the shore.

Molly coughed and sputtered as each wave crashed into them and the salt burned her throat and eyes, desperately feeling for the sand of the shore beneath her fingertips. Her movements were painstakingly slow and she felt the frustration bubbling in her gut but eventually they reached the beach and she hauled him as far up as she could, collapsing beside him as her chest heaved and her muscles screamed at her to rest.

She rolled onot one side and cracked a brown eye open, watching for the rise and fall of his chest that was so faint she nearly missed it. Seeing he was alive allowed her a moment to clear her head, putting to rest the million thoughts that were swirling around and vying for her attention as the panic eased ever so slightly.

It allowed her to take the time to really _look _at him, every line, freckle, and scar present on his alabaster skin; the ink black curls that were plastered to his forehead, and the prominent cheekbones her eyes were instantly drawn to. She felt she could sit and watch him all day if it were allowed and the sudden thought of leaving brought on a melancholy feeling she just couldn't shake.

She knew she would be caught if she stayed, someone would come for him sooner or later and all it would take is one look at her for things to go downhill and her father would have a fit when he heard about it. She didn't want to leave him though, not while he was like this.

Molly took in a deep breath and shifted in the sand, reaching out a shaking hand and pushing back a soaked lock of hair and once she was sure he was alive and mostly alright she inched towards the water with a feeling of guilt and curiosity threatening to overtake her.

She gave him one last longing glance before diving back under the water.

…

Molly didn't stick around long enough to see what happened and part of her felt selfish.

Every fiber of her being had begged her to stay behind and watch out for him, not knowing if anyone would find his unconscious form on the soggy shore in time but she couldn't take the risk. Once she immersed herself in the salted waves once more she fled without looking back, knowing it would take only a glance for her to convince herself to stay behind.

She waited for what felt like countless eternities strung together but she could tell by the sudden appearance of the moon when she looked at the sky that it had only been a few hours. Now was one of the only times she actually favored being alone, after her dad had passed a few years before she found herself on her own, but now she was grateful there was no one to sneak away from.

Just as the moon hit its highest point in the sky she began the somewhat lengthy swim back to the beach. Much to her relief (although she couldn't swallow the disappointment that always dwelled there) there was no sign of the man she had saved; just empty beach and some disturbed sand where he had laid.

Molly sighed and tented her hands beneath her chin, staring longingly at the extravagant house situated on the hill where she could see the faint yellow glow coming from the window facing the water as a silhouette stood rigid.

"You've waited quite some time for him to return haven't you?"

The voice came out of nowhere and wrapped around her like silk, ripping a choked gasp from her throat as she spun around and locked eyes on the source. She couldn't see far, just a few feet in front of her thanks to the illuminating silver haze coming from the moon, but as she squinted she could make out a pair of chocolate eyes and a cascading waterfall of dark chestnut hair.

Molly bit her lip and glanced around but she couldn't see or hear anyone else. She looked back at the stranger, who she noticed was intoxicatingly beautiful, and cocked her head to the side in sudden interest.

"Who are you?" she asked in her soft, slightly graveled voice.

The strange woman smiled, moving closer as the hair on the back of Molly's neck stood up as their skin brushed. She sucked in a breath as the stranger settled beside her and cast her dark eyes toward the house the younger woman had been watching, smiling as if she knew an age old secret she was just dying to tell.

"You're quite the risk taker," she commented casually, completely bypassing Molly's question. "Getting close to a man the way you did is dangerous."

She flicked her eyes back to the cowering young girl behind her and nodded toward the house.

"You fancy him don't you?"

Despite the voice in her head telling her not to answer any of the woman's questions she found herself nodding as a fiery blush colored her cheeks and she cursed herself.

"And what, may I ask; motivated you to find yourself entangled with someone like him? All these fish in the sea and you set your sights on the one person you can't have. Tell me why."

Molly huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Why should I answer any of your questions when you won't even tell me your name?"

She watched as the woman smiled and revealed a set of blindingly white teeth, a sound that almost resembled a humored purr escaping her.

"You're quite the feisty one aren't you? Very well, my name is Irene what I do and where I come from aren't important just yet. Now, back to you my dear."

There was a moment of hesitation but Molly found she couldn't deny the woman-_Irene _an answer to her question, which she answered in a shy voice that sounded nothing like her own.

"He's…misunderstood, an outcast like us. He knows how we feel and to see someone who is as lonely as you are, well it ignites something in you. He needs someone to help him see that he's not alone, that there's someone out there to love him."

"And you think that person is you?"

Molly blinked in the faint moonlight and licked a salty drop that clung to her bottom lip. "I'd like to think that, yes but there's not much I can from here."

Even though Irene had yet to utter more than a few words since Molly began talking she could see the gears turning in the beautiful strangers head and a wicked grin tugged at her cherry colored lips. She let out a soft breath and looked from Molly to the house, whose lights were now out.

"I think I may have a solution to your problem, although there is a price if you're willing to accept my help."

The words caught Molly's attention almost instantly but they were accompanied by a feeling of uncertainty that took refuge in her gut, twisting it into knots she fought to unravel. It was tempting, more than she had originally thought so, and she found herself conflicted as Irene watched her squirm under her gaze.

She had spent years pining for someone she had reminded herself countless times she could never have and now there was a mysterious woman she'd never met who seemed to know more about her than anyone at this point and needless to say Molly had no idea what she was supposed to do. Finally she looked back to Irene with wide, scared eyes.

"How would you be able to help me?"

Another wicked smile graced her lips. "You've fantasized about being like them haven't you? Walking on land and feeling the earth beneath those things they call feet?"

Molly mutely nodded as Irene continued.

"I can make that happen for you. No more fantasizing or wishing for things you've only been able to dream of, I can give you what you've always wanted and all it's going to take is a simple yes from you and a little bit of…work on my part."

"And what about the price you spoke of? I don't have anything to give you."

This time Irene chuckled and flicked a few strands of dark hair over her shoulder, her eyes almost pitying the young girl in front of her who seemed to shake with desperation.

"Silly girl I'm not asking you to pay me, all it's going to take is something you already have."

"And that would be?"

"Oh, just that pretty little voice of yours."

Molly felt herself blanch at Irene's shocking revelation and her hand instinctively made its way to her throat, feeling the panic well up until it threatened to rip her in half. She looked up with her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

"Why would you need my voice? If I can't talk to him how will he know-"

"Love, if he's really the one for you, you don't need to speak to him. He'll know it, he'll _feel _it the way you do. And, if you can manage a kiss in three days' time, well I may even be nice enough to let you stay that way forever. Spending the rest of your years with the one you love, no more wandering on your own in our big bad world. It's all you could ever want."

"And if I don't manage it in three days' time? Will I return to this?"

Molly gestured down at the shimmering fin that bobbed gently in the still water, wondering what it would look like if two feet happened to take its place. She looked up and saw Irene nod sadly as the words tumbled in Molly's head, unable to sort her thoughts as all the voices in her head spoke at once, commanding her to do what she felt was right as Irene interrupted in her sultry voice.

"I need an answer little one. Will it be yes or no?"

And finally, after what felt like an excruciating long moment, she looked at Irene and said.

"Yes."


End file.
